


Lost and Found

by RedFive



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, First Meetings, Fluff, Hannibal has no chill, Hannibal is Hannibal, Hannibal season 1, M/M, Manipulative Hannibal, Will Graham Loves His Dogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 17:28:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9000070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedFive/pseuds/RedFive
Summary: An alternative first meeting without Jack Crawford as Hannibal's wingman."It Takes One"  It is an intriguing article, but Hannibal has low expectations for the FBI's new bloodhound given Ms. Lounds penchant for hyperbole and deception. Still...it's worth a look. Crawford's last pet project managed to surprise him after all.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For @axmxz and the Hannigram Holiday Exchange! Enjoy!

 

"It Takes One” the _TattlecCrime_ headline read. The title was a little hammy, but the content of the piece itself yielded surprise upon surprise.

_‘’The FBI isn’t just hunting psychopaths, they’re headhunting them too offering them competitive pay and benefits in the hopes of using one demented mind to catch another.”_

Featured prominently on the homepage was a photo of a man in a wrinkled cotton jacket standing beside a row of corpses. While other agents in the frame couldn't keep their eyes off the horror, Will Graham appeared disinterested in the scene and looked half-dead himself in a dreamy, distracted sort of way.  A halo of fall leaves crowned his wild curls, which lent his portrait some much needed poetry. But it was the young man’s eyes that really caught Hannibal’s attention. Even at low resolution, Hannibal could tell that those eyes held untold secrets buried six feet deep.

So this was Crawford's new pet profiler? Interesting. He had changed his victimology since Miriam Lass. Hannibal tapped his finger against the glass of his iPad imagining what it would be like to brush those curls away from the young man's face and look into those eyes unobstructed. Ms. Lounds wrote the Will Graham could connect to the “deranged” minds of serial killers because he shared those appetites, but Hannibal wasn’t sure he trusted that assessment yet. Ms. Lounds loved to sensationalize her stories in pursuit of the almighty dollar, and there was always the possibility that this was a trap. It seemed almost too good to be true, but Hannibal was just bored enough to take a chance. Besides, there was something undeniably off about the man. Hannibal sensed that buried beneath all the misplaced fear something remarkable lay dormant--maybe even something dangerous.

Hannibal closed out of _TattleCrime_ and pulled up the phone book in a new window. 

…

The dog squirmed in his arms almost causing Hannibal to drop the Jack Russell while he rang the doorbell. He tried to pacify the animal by scratching behind its ears, but the dog was having none of it. For all his skill with people, Hannibal never had been very good with animals unless you counted his boyhood cochlea garden, which Hannibal did not. The snails were a pantry item and not much more, which was how he viewed most people too. 

A deadbolt turned with a loud and uneasy whine; Hannibal held his breath as the door creaked open.

The young FBI Agent greeted him at the door dressed only in grey boxers and a white T-shirt. ”Yes?” he said still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“I believe this is yours,” Hannibal said and held the dog away from his body.

“Buster!” Agent Graham shouted and scooped the dog into his arms.  “How did you get out?” he said and kissed the top of the small dog’s head before setting him down on the ground. “Thank you, Mr….?”

“Lecter,” Hannibal said and held out his hand.

Agent Graham had a firmer handshake than expected, but he did not seem fond of eye contact.

A strong gust of wind blew in from the east causing the underdressed agent to shiver so forcefully Hannibal worried the young man might shake apart. So far, Will Graham was living up to his lack of expectations.

“Thank you, Mr. Lecter. I don’t know what to give you for your trouble.” Agent Graham said and eyed Hannibal’s expensive clothing. He had obviously meant to offer Hannibal money as a reward for the return of his property, but it was clear that Hannibal had no need for Will Graham’s pocket change.

“How about a cup of coffee?” Hannibal suggested instead.

Agent Graham bit the corner of his lip and glanced over his shoulder into the interior of his house. “Okay, if that’s what you want. But I should warn, my place is a mess,” he said addressing his furniture instead of his guest. He stepped aside and held the door open for Hannibal. The home was indeed a "mess". Dog beds and what looked like the inner workings of a boat motor lay strewn about the floor.

Meanwhile, Hannibal was immediately rushed by all of the dogs, who clearly remembered the man who had brought them all those fine sausages while he was stealing Buster from under Agent Graham’s nose this morning.

Agent Graham whistled, and the dogs retreated. They whined but obeyed their master without hesitation--except for Buster who sat stubbornly at Hannibal’s feet.

“This one is your troublemaker,” Hannibal said and winked at his co-conspirator.

“They’re all trouble,” Agent Graham grunted but looked at his pack with affection. ”Although they are usually better behaved around guests.”

“I must be likeable,” Hannibal offered.

“Well you’ve chosen the wrong breakfast companion, Mr. Likeable, but let me get you that cup of coffee anyway. The kitchen is this way,” he said and picked up a threadbare bathrobe off the piano bench.

The kitchen, while provincial, was cleaner and more organized than the rest of the house. Hannibal was always very careful with what he put in his body and had not been looking forward to drinking this stranger’s bargain shelf swill. But this exchange was a necessary evil in order to develop a rapport with the profiler. 

“What brings you to Wolf Trap?” Agent Graham asked as he poured two scoops of coffee beans into the grinder. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you don’t look like you belong around here.”

“I was making a house call,” Hannibal said and claimed a seat at the kitchen table without an invitation.

“You’re a doctor?” Agent Graham asked after the coffee had been ground.

“Of sorts. I am a psychiatrist.”

Agent Graham snorted as he walked over to the table at took the seat at Hannibal’s left. “Of course you are. Because there aren’t enough psychiatrists in my life already.”

“I beg your pardon?” Hannibal asked with feigned ignorance.

“Sorry,” Agent Graham said and absentmindedly scratched at the grain of the table. “I was trying to be funny, but I guess it it would help if you knew what I did for a living. I work with the FBI in the behavioral sciences division, so I work with a lot of psychiatrists.”

“Ah, I see. Behavioral sciences. You catch killers then?”

Agent Graham visibly flinched. “Among other criminals, but yeah...mostly killers. They bring me in on the special cases: the ones nobody wants to deal with and the ones nobody **_can_ ** deal with.”

“May I ask why? Or is that classified information, Agent Graham?” Hannibal said.

“I'm not an agent, Doctor Lecter, and you can call me Will.”

 _Will_. Short for William Hannibal assumed, but Will suited him better.

“Then I request that you call me Hannibal. Doctor Lecter is for patients and colleagues whom I am not overly fond of.” Chilton’s sly face and tacky tie-pins rose to mind. Hannibal frowned and banished the memory lest more of his feelings slip through his mask.

“Hannibal? That’s quite a name. You must have gotten tortured on the playground.”

“No one would dare, and I am quite proud of it. It is a family name. I am the eighth of my line,” he explained patiently.

“You sound like royalty when you say it like that. Are you?”

“To some degree. My family has long since lost most of our hereditary lands and privileges, but I am technically a count. However, the title is a bit much to use in daily conversation. I prefer “Doctor” and “Hannibal” where appropriate.”

“Only a bit much?” Will asked and finally made eye contact. “You don’t seem like the type of man who is bothered by over-indulgences.” There was no smile or mirth in his words. It was as if he were reading an encyclopedia entry.

 _‘He’s studying me,’_ Hannibal realized as Will peered into his face. He leaned closer and whispered. “How do you see me, Will?”

Will rose suddenly and walked away from the table. “You don’t want me to answer that,” Will said standing in front of the coffee maker with his back to the table. “You won’t like me if I psychoanalyze you. Believe me, I psychoanalyze people for a living. Most people are uncomfortable with it.”

“I am not most people.”

“No, you’re not.” Will said and rubbed the back of his neck.

“How do you make people uncomfortable, Will?”

“Haha, you don’t have the time for that can of worms.”

“Far from it, I have all afternoon. The adventure can be yours and mine today if you wish it.”

The coffee maker kicked on and pipping hot liquid began to trickle into the glass pot. Will was silent until the sputtering stopped. He poured coffee into two mismatched mugs and walked back to the table. “I get into someone’s head and try to adopt their point of view. Sometimes I sink so far into their subconscious that their thoughts begin to feel like my thoughts,” he said through clenched teeth.

“You can do this with killers?”

“I can do this with anyone. It’s has less to do with an empathy disorder and more to do with an active imagination,” Will said retaking his seat. He slid the cup of coffee towards Hannibal, and left his hand wrapped around the base of the mug. “I’m sorry. I forgot to ask if you took cream or sugar.”

“This will be fine,” Hannibal said and pried the cup away from Will. He indulged himself by _“accidentally”_ brushing his fingers across Will’s knuckle and watched Will pull away like he had been burned. “And you think this makes others uncomfortable?”

“Of course! How would it make you feel, Doctor Lecter, to have every feeling you’ve ever locked away exposed and laid bare to a total stranger?”

“I confess I am having a hard time imagining what that would feel like, but I am willing to become your test subject. Would you share your thoughts with me, Will? I promise I will not take offense. Nothing delights me more than explorations of the self.”

Will sighed and took a long sip from his mug before meeting Hannibal's gaze.

It began without warning. Will was present and then he was not. Hannibal watched in fascination as the man withdrew not into himself but into Hannibal’s mind; however, Hannibal finally got that unobstructed view of Will Graham’s soul.

The _TattleCrime_ photo did not do Will any favors. His eyes, which had seemed so sad and empty in low resolution, were luminescent and hawkish in the real world. It was breathtaking and disconcerting at the same time. Hannibal could feel Will’s mind boring into him--tapping on the locked doors of his mind palace trying to find a way in. “What do you see, Will?” he asked in a voice that sound too weak to be his own.

“You’re playing with me for some reason. You’re like a big cat toying with its food. But...I don’t understand why.”

Hannibal leaned back in his chair. _‘He could see all that with one look? Fascinating. I should be cautious.’_

“I was curious. As a man with an aptitude for the psychological, I hoped you would understand.”

Will shook his head and the edge fell away from his eyes. “I'm not sure I do. Your mind is dense...like a sponge cake.”

Hannibal grimaced and reached into his pocket for the silver card case he carried. “You have never had a good sponge cake then. Will, I am going to leave you my card and I beg that you call me in the future.”

He passed the card to Will who immediately set it aside.

“I don’t need a psychiatrist, Doctor Lecter. Therapy doesn't work on me.”

“I am not asking for your business. I'm asking you to try my sponge cake. God forbid we should become friendly and socialize like adults in the process.”

Will looked again at the card and sighed, and in that moment, Hannibal knew he’d snared him.

“I’ll think about it,” Will said.

“I sincerely hope you do.”

‘ _I mean that, dear boy,_ ’ Hannibal thought and let a sly, satisfied smile cross his lips.


End file.
